I got into quite a heated argument with a homeless man in Penn Station today.
I’m usually pretty good at avoiding this kind of thing, but this time I was bogged down from carrying 2 massive luggage bags (which undoubtedly add to the “tourist-look”) as well as the fact that I wasn’t “on the move” as I normally am, but was rather waiting to meet up with my brother.
This made me a prime target.
The clearly homeless man approached me and asked me to sign a petition, as well as donate money to help start a basketball team for kids in the area.
I have nothing against homeless people. I wish I could help them all, but I can’t. I can’t go giving money to everybody that asks me. I’m not totally financially established myself yet. Don’t you dare judge me, either—you’re no better than I am—DON’T DENY IT.
I tried to let him down easy. In the unlikely event that this man was genuinely in need of signatures to start a real basketball team, I figured I could at the very least sign his petition. I couldn’t donate regardless of the petition’s authenticity, but I could still sign, on the off chance that this happened to be real.
“Well, I can sign for you, but I can’t donate.” I reach for the pen and clipboard.
The man pulls the clip board out of my reach. “No, man. We need the donation, too.”
I already suspected possible fraud, but this was confirmation.
(Trying one last time to be agreeable) “Sorry, man. I really can’t donate, but if you want my signature, I can do that for you.”
(Tone becoming more aggressive) “You can’t give me two or three dollars?”
“I really can’t. Have a good day though, man.”
(Now, with a glaringly obvious aggression) “I know you got the money, big guy.”
Keep in mind, I have about 10 inches and 100 pounds on this guy, so he’s got some guts.
“Look, buddy. I’m not interested. Now, are you going to walk away, or do I have to?”
“Hand it over, big guy!”
“I’m not interested. So, you’re going to walk away from me, and that’s going to be the end of it.”
He stares in my eyes with a very serious expression.
He slowly walks past me, almost in slow-motion, never breaking eye contact.
I can tell by his eye movement as he walks away that he’s strongly considering taking a swing at me, so I pull my hands out of my pockets and cross my arms intimidatingly.
There was no mirror, but if I had to guess, this probably made me look like a hot bouncer.
And that was that. He walked away.
I was CERTAIN that he was going to come back to stab me (that’s actually not a joke), so I stayed for another few minutes until he was completely out of sight before fleeing into the New Jersey Transit area.
If you’re thinking of moving to the Big Apple to “make it in the big city,” I recommend staying in your small town and waiting tables instead.
Until next time,
Michael J. Erickson, CEO & Co-Founder
